


Love So You Can Let Go

by ViaLethe



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen, Golden Age (Narnia), Love, Original Character(s), Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 05:38:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2337137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViaLethe/pseuds/ViaLethe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucy knows love in many forms, but there's still one she can't understand quite yet; luckily, she's always been the inquisitive sort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love So You Can Let Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hydrangea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrangea/gifts).



_I. Fourteen_

“But what if it's a talking Bear?” Lucy asks, plaintive, flopping back into the grass with a sigh that just might, perhaps, qualify as melodramatic.

She's sure from Susan's raised eyebrow and quickly suppressed smile that her sister believes it to be so, at least.

“Don't be silly, Lucy.” Susan's graceful curves are highlighted by the sun shining from behind, her long fingers quick and sure as she weaves flower stems together. Lucy breathes in deeply and stares down her own (still disappointingly flat) chest, before releasing her breath in a huff. There is nothing quite so frustrating, she's decided, as being the youngest, and if Susan should dare to say some variation on, 'you'll understand when you're older,' there is the danger of a most un-queenly display of temper.

“It isn't silly at all,” she says. “It would be horrid, I'm sure. They're very sweet and all, but they are so dreadfully slow, and their paws are forever damp or sticky.”

Susan laughs. “But don't you see, that's why you would never fall in love with one.” She leans over Lucy, the dark sweep of her hair blocking the sun for a moment, tickling the tip of Lucy's nose. “You could only fall in love with someone who was intelligent and curious and quite stubbornly sure of themselves. If you did fall in love with a Bear, rest assured that would be the most intelligent, courageous, noble Bear that Aslan ever created.”

Sometimes Lucy feels it will never really go away, this feeling of being the youngest, of being taken so seriously in some ways, but still treated as a child in others. And then there are times like these, when she feels something like hope.

“There,” Susan says, settling a crown of daises on Lucy's bright head and sitting back. “You're as lovely as the sun, and no Narnian, whatever his shape, could possibly disagree. You needn't worry about who you'll fall in love with. If you love them, they will be perfect.”

Lucy does not tell her sister that no one ever dares look at the sun, for fear of being blinded, though the thought does cross her mind; instead she sits up just abruptly enough to set the flowers at an angle, because nothing should ever be allowed to be quite perfect.

_II. Fifteen_

“What if it never happens for me?” she says, and wants to bite her tongue immediately. She's not entirely certain Peter's listening, but if he is, it's hardly fair for her to complain to him at a time like this.

At first she thinks he won't make a response, that he's too lost in his own gloom to hear hers, but then he stirs himself into action, like a good king. Or a good brother. “Of course it'll happen for you, Lu,” he says, absently perhaps but still with authority, as though it's a question not even worth the pondering; he doesn't bother to add, “because you're the most loveable of us all,” as Susan would, or, “and even if it doesn't, one doesn't necessarily require love to be happy,” as Edmund might, because Peter deals only in certainties.

Usually she finds that a comfort, but today there's little enough comfort to be taken in anything. Certainly not the gloomy, grey weather, nor the sullen mood of her dear brother, and least of all in the absence of the Dryads, who had decamped to leafy grounds further from Cair Paravel, once Peter had separated himself, firmly and with finality, from their sister Birce.

“But what if it doesn't?” she asks softly, wanting so very much to ask him _why_ , why would he let this precious thing go, once he'd found it, once he'd held it in his hands as she could only imagine. She wonders, at times, if there isn't something broken in them all, something from that hazy time before she can quite remember; something that causes Susan to prevaricate endlessly, giving affection to all and love to none, something that causes Peter to turn his love away, when it's quite obvious to everyone he's miserable without her.

At the window, Peter gives a little shudder, like a sudden breeze through the leaves of a tree, and breaks off from his daze.

“It'll be easier for you,” he says, crossing the room to give her shoulder a squeeze. “You can give your love freely, as it's meant to be given, and not worry over the consequences. Leave that to the rest of us.”

He leaves her then, off to attend meetings on trade, and councils about treaties, and talks on alliances that have him missing dinner.

Still, he thinks to write her a note, and have it left under her plate: “I can't watch over Narnia and my baby sister at the same time – give me a few more years before you begin to worry about love, at least!”

She doesn't write back, resisting the urge to tell him she hasn't got time to wait. He only meant it to cheer her, she's sure, but even Peter, who's most like her, has never understood her urge to live _now_ , to forge ahead and take it on faith that the world would follow along in her wake.

_III. Sixteen_

“What if I'm not good at it?” she says, and she isn't surprised when Edmund doesn't laugh, exactly; it's more a sense of relief.

“Why wouldn't you be?” he asks instead. “After all, you managed to love me even when I was at my most beastly.” She doesn't miss the twitch in his cheek this time.

“That's what you think,” she says, and puts her tongue out. It's a gesture unworthy of a queen, but it's always been different with Edmund, who understands so well what it's like to be younger and brushed aside all too often.

He scratches at his stubble (they're not really so much younger anymore, she reflects), and resumes pondering, to all appearances seriously. “In all honesty though, Lu – maybe I don't know much about it, but I don't think love's the sort of thing you can do badly. The way someone loves is just a part of who they are. And you've always loved everything with your whole heart.”

“But that's just it!” she says, frustrated, feeling full up to bursting. “When I think of what I love – you, and Peter and Su, and Mr Tumnus and Narnia and everyone in it-” and here she has to pause for breath, her mouth tumbling on ahead of her brain like a baby rabbit rolling down a hill- “and Aslan, and everything good and kind in the world – how could there be anything left over for just one person? Or what if there was something left, and it was all just too much, too overwhelming for them?”

The fact that Edmund once again resists the urge to laugh, she decides, must indicate how utterly miserable the expression on her face appears.

“Why worry about it?” he asks, all practicality. “It will happen, or it won't.” He watches her for a moment, and she wonders (she _does_ , she wouldn't ever forget to, no matter how much in turmoil she might be herself) what he's keeping hidden behind his eyes, how much this secretive brother of hers might actually know of love, or want to. But that isn't the sort of question Edmund likes to be asked, or would be willing to answer. “Here's a thought,” he says. “Do you even want it to happen?”

That _is_ quite a thought, one that's enough to take her aback, wondering. Her heart's so filled already, and her life so wonderful, so full of work and light and love that she can't see how there could possibly be any lack to be felt. And yet...

“Yes,” she says, firmly. “I do.”

Narnia, of course, appreciates its ruler, her siblings their sister, and her subjects their Valiant little Queen. But somewhere out there, there must be someone who would appreciate just plain _Lucy_.

_IV. Seventeen_

“What if Aslan wouldn't want it?” she wonders aloud, to an audience of sky, grass, and one (non-talking but very hopeful) dove.

“He doesn't come along often, you know,” she tells the dove, which bobs its head and stares at her with one beady little bright eye, almost as though it quite understood. “But I always feel him with me. He's always been there, just like...like...the sun,” she finishes, though it's all too inadequate (and cliché besides, as Edmund would no doubt point out). “Maybe that's meant to be enough for me. And it is! Except...sometimes it isn't.”

She sighs, and the dove ruffles its feathers and coos a bit at the unexpected movement, but seems to have no other comment.

“You aren't terribly helpful,” she chides it gently. “I just wish he'd send me some sort of a sign, to let me know what's right, what I'm meant to be doing.”

Of course, she knows perfectly well that Aslan's warm, rich voice would only tell her something like _No one is permitted to know what will be, dear one_ , or perhaps, _What will be is only what might be, until you make that choice_.

“He'd want me to choose for myself,” she tells the dove, fishing a bit of cake she'd hidden away at breakfast from her pocket to crumble and offer the bird, as repayment for its excellent listening skills. It deserved that much, at least, in her estimation.

It's at precisely that moment that a man falls out of the sky, landing with a pronounced _Oof_ very nearly at Lucy's feet.

Nothing more escapes her than a startled “Oh!” before she's bending over his face, peering through a tangle of reddish-brown curls which have fallen over his eyes. “Are you alright? Please, please don't be dead.”

Fortunately, first one eye opens up at her, and then the other, before he manages to sit up (though, she notices, not without quite a bit of groaning and cautious movement on his part).

“Are you hurt?” she asks, though with her cordial safely tucked away back at Cair Paravel, she's not exactly prepared for any serious injuries.

“It's sweet of you to ask, but nothing time won't heal,” he says finally, after an experimental stretching of each limb. “Except perhaps my wounded dignity, and a friendship which may be _fractured beyond repair!_ ” This last phrase is shouted at the sky for reasons which escape Lucy (though they do have her concerned about head wounds), until a shadow falls over them and a Griffon settles in the grass nearby, preening at his feathers as though the two humans don't even exist.

“I fail to see what all the fuss is about,” the Griffon says. “You were being insufferable, I was flying low, and I dropped you right next to a very pretty lady.”

“Oh, is she pretty?” the man asks, and Lucy notices, for the first time, how awfully pretty he is himself, with his chestnut curls and broad shoulders. “I hadn't really made that assessment, having been too busy with being _dropped out of the sky_.”

“Well,” the Griffon says, “not by my own personal standards, perhaps, but I believe she suits those of your kind.” Luckily, there are several Griffons in residence at Cair Paravel, so Lucy's well used to their blunt approach to compliments; even still, she finds herself quite curious to know if the man would agree with his companion's thought. “What will not suit at all,” the Griffon continues, “are your abominable manners. I am Cloudbreaker,” he says, nodding to Lucy in greeting, “and this exceedingly rude young man in need of a lesson is Owain.”

“Forgive me,” Owain says, and though Lucy gets the sense he's speaking to her, he's still eying up Cloudbreaker with a decidedly unfriendly look. “I may not have noticed what she looked like, but I did take note of her kindness, as she cared enough to come to my aid when I so abruptly interrupted her peaceful day, unlike certain winged people I could name.”

“Oh, you needn't worry about that,” Lucy says, inserting herself between the two of them, having taken note of Cloudbreaker's bristling feathers and Owain's stance, which could only be referred to as belligerent. “Please, don't fight. Might I help settle whatever's come between you? I'm quite good at settling squabbles, really.”

She isn't quite certain what she expects; a fight over an insult given to someone's nest, or a boast of strength that went too far – all things she's seen, both in fun and deadly seriousness, in the Cair's training yards over the years, occasionally involving her own brothers. But sometimes, one's expectations are not properly matched with reality.

“We were having a debate on the merits of trade policy,” Owain says, coolly enough, though his arms are still crossed, and his eyes not exactly friendly. “My feathered friend is trapped in the past and believes Narnia should keep her borders closed. I disagreed, and said we needed more trade, not less, if we are to truly prosper as a nation.”

“You called me a _birdbrain_ ,” Cloudbreaker says, a faint growl at the back of his voice.

“I may have gone slightly too far on that account,” Owain acknowledges. “But if your idea of winning an argument is shaking me off your back the moment you know you're losing, I really can't-”

“Alright, that's enough!” Lucy says, holding up her hands as the two advance on each other, and fortunately, even though the Griffon's beak is above the level of her shoulders and Owain is at least as tall as Peter (meaning he's nearly a foot taller than she), Lucy's had enough practice in being authoritative over the years. Or they might merely be ashamed to be fighting in front of a stranger, but either way, she's grateful they've listened. “Do you two always behave like such children?”

“More or less,” Owain says, his eyes truly meeting hers for the first time. They remind her of something she can't quite catch hold of, something bright and golden, something full of excitement and peace, all blended together.

“We bring out the worst in each other,” Cloudbreaker grumbles from behind them, interrupting Lucy's moment.

“And the best,” Owain says, hunting through the grass until he finds something, coming up with Lucy's dove companion carefully cradled in his hands. “I'm afraid we gave this fellow quite a fright, between my fall and Cloudbreaker's entrance. It doesn't seem right just to leave him.”

Indeed, the poor bird seems almost paralyzed as Owain transfers him delicately into Lucy's cupped palms, the dove's tiny heart fluttering madly against her fingers. His hands stay for a moment against hers, thumb to thumb, joint to joint, and Lucy feels her own heart leap in her chest, before he steps away and smiles.

“We ought to be going,” he says. “Would you do us the courtesy of walking with us?”

She thinks of pointing out they could far more easily fly, before biting down on her tongue to prevent the words from escaping.

“If you are going in my direction, I should be happy to,” she says instead, and is surprised when Owain laughs.

“Of course,” he says. “I ought to have explained that sooner-”

“More rudeness on your part,” Cloudbreaker rumbles.

“-we were on our way to Cair Paravel to join the High King's Council. So it is our duty, as well as our pleasure-”

“ _Your_ pleasure.”

“-to accompany our Queen back to her home. Paying no mind to the fact that it would be our destination anyhow,” Owain finishes, ignoring his friend's interruptions as smoothly as if they'd not occurred.

Belatedly, Lucy realizes her own rudeness, for she can't recall having returned their introduction. “You knew all along who I was?” she asks, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

“Oh, yes,” Owain says, looking down at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling in what feels like a secret smile, all for her. “But I didn't think you'd mind. You're not at all what I'd expected.”

“No?” she says, though something about the look he's giving her, a mix of assessment and admiration, tells her this is not at all a bad thing.

“No,” he responds simply, and smiles openly, a grin that's all white teeth and flashing charm, full of promise.

 _Be happy, dear heart_ , a voice purrs in her head, warm and deep; in her hands, her dove stirs, and coos, and takes off into the sky with a rush of wings.

Lucy laughs, and takes the arm Owain proffers to her with a flourish, hearing Cloudbreaker click his beak behind them in what she knows is the Griffon version of chuckling.

 _Almost perfect_ , she thinks, and understands.


End file.
